


Peter, The Red Nosed Reindeer

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: 25 days of ficmas [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Face Painting, Tickling, festive fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 08:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16950210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Festive face painting with Peter ends in mayhem when the reader does an… interesting number on his face and uploads the pictures to Instagram for the whole world to see.





	Peter, The Red Nosed Reindeer

“Do you trust me?” Peter murmured softly.

You both knew that there was no one in the world you trusted more when it came to your safety in the field. He would always protect you from danger, just as you would do the same for him. But this was something else entirely, more personal and the kind of thing you wouldn’t let just anyone do. The answer was obvious, though.

“Of course I trust you, Pete.”

You shuffled closer to him, scooching across the carpet until you were sat directly in front of him. Legs crossed, hands resting in your lap, you bumped your knees against his. Tilting your chin up, you couldn’t help but giggle when he oh so gently readjusted the position your head. His thumb lingered on your cheek, barely touching, before he dropped his hand.

Blaming the heating for the blush on his cheeks, Peter whipped out a new brush from the box by his side and said, “This will be the best reindeer you’ve ever seen.”

“You sound pretty confident about that. Although after the zombie fiasco at Halloween, I can’t help but wonder if maybe Dum-E would do a better job…”

“Y/N!” Peter gasped dramatically, his hand splayed over his chest in mock offence. “Are you questioning my face painting skills?”

“Me? I would never!” Squealing out for help as Peter tackled you to the ground, you tapped out when he began to tickle you in the exact spot he’d sworn never to use. It was your one weakness; your Achilles heel. Shoving him away as you sat up, you couldn’t maintain your scowl for long. “That was a low blow, Parker.”

“You deserved it for insulting my artist talents.” Setting himself up infront of you again, Peter’s expression became one of determination. He always did this; whenever you teased him, however playfully, he always took it as a challenge to prove you wrong. It rarely ended well (you’d lost count of how many detentions that his determination had landed you) but you were fairly certain that even Peter wouldn’t be able to turn facepaint into a dangerous, explosive substance.

Readjusting your posture so that you became the perfect canvas, Peter asked, “Are you ready? Good. Close your eyes.”

The delicate hairs tickled your skin as the brush danced across your cheek. Peter painted with a combination of quick strokes, slapping the warm liquid on your face, and light details. There was no order, no logic to his method. You couldn’t imagine how this would become a reindeer but that uncertainty filled you with excitement.

Your eyes flew open at a dull pressure on your shoulder, when Peter poked you with the paintbrush. Explaining himself before you tackled him to the ground, he claimed that every time you moved or smiled or breathed the paint on your face cracked a little more, supposedly ruining his “masterpiece”.

He booped your nose with the wet brush, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree at your laugh. Peter dabbed the wet splodge with a tissue, only to realise a moment later that he’d only made matters worse; there had been a fat drop of red paint on the tissue which was now smeared over your nose. To say that you looked like Rudolph may have been an understatement. It was more like a clown who had been punched in the nose.

Not bothering to tell you about that, he merely grinned and said, “Right. Eyes shut and let me finish.”

Ten minutes and a terrible case of pins and needles later, Peter declared his work complete. He whipped out his phone and, before you had the chance to argue, took a photo of you. His expression softened as he looked at the picture. When you asked him how you looked, Peter said, “You look beautiful. Because of my amazing reindeer. Obviously.”

“Let me see, then!” You snatched the phone from his hands, using your thumb print to unlock the screen. Your eyes widened and jaw dropped when you saw the image he’d taken. Never again would you criticise his artistic abilities. It was the most detailed cartoon reindeer you’d ever seen. There were little baubles hanging from the antlers and as red a nose as you.

You knew you should have been more annoyed with your bright red nose but something else caught your attention. You zoomed in on the photo and frowned. Looking down at your feet to confirm your suspicion, you asked, “Pete, why is the reindeer wearing Spiderman socks…?”

“Because he has cold feet and good taste.”

You could hardly argue with that logic.

Repaying him in kind for his hard work, you began to paint his cheek. You couldn’t help but smirk at the way Peter instinctively crunched up his nose when you drew the brush across his skin. It was so adorable that you became more interested in replicating the result than finishing the painting.

As if you were contouring the face of a drag queen, you traced the brush - coated in a different colour of paint each time - over the lines of his jaw and under his eyes until he looked like a piece of walking abstract art. And not the kind that sold for millions of dollars at high end auctions. More like the scribblings of a three year old who ate too much sugar for lunch.

You pulled your phone from your pocket and silently took a few photos before announcing that you were finished. Tears in your eyes, you bit your lip so that you didn't’ burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the sight before you. Tapping Peter’s knee to signal that you were done, you said softly, “You look… Well… Honestly, Pete, it might be my best work.”

“Yeah?” Peter tilted his head to the side, his arms crossed over his chest. He was watching you carefully, trying to work out why you were lying to him. “Can I see?”

“I told you that you look awesome. Surely you trust me enough to go out without looking for yourself?”

“Absolutely not. FRIDAY, how bad is it? Do I look anything like a reindeer?”

The AI’s voice rang clear in the room, more surprised than you’d ever heard her. “It’s supposed to be a reindeer?”

Leaping over your bed to avoid Peter’s grasp, you danced around the room, frantically dodging Peter’s webs. “It’s not that bad!” you yelled, rolling behind the sofa and hiding in the corner. “If you squint a turn your head to the side, then you look kinda cute!”

“You are gonna pay for this,” Peter said, appearing over the top of the sofa. His lips were pursed tightly together and his eyes were narrowed but he looked far from intimidating. Not when his furrowed eyebrows were coloured with mismatching, sparkling paints and he had a painted goatee which was in worse shape than Tony’s after three days without a shave.

You could see that he’d tried to wipe off some of the mess but had only succeeded in making himself look even more of a disaster than before. The sleeves of his shirt were covered in paint and everywhere he touched left a murky handprint. As seriously as he could in this frankly ridiculous situation, Peter said, “Tell me there are no photos.”

“There are no photos,” you repeated, fighting back the smile on your lips.

“Y/N is lying to you, Peter,” FRIDAY announced from above. The TV screen in your wall flickered to life as the AI pulled the images from your Instagram account for him to see. “They have over fifty likes already.”

Staring up at the ceiling, you hissed, “FRIDAY, you snitch.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Peter?”

“No thank you, FRIDAY. That’ll be all.”

Knowing what was about to come you wasted no time in striking up a bargain. Peter had barely finished speaking when you said, “I want a thirty second head start.”

“Five.”

“Twenty.”

“Ten. Final offer.”

You thought about it for a moment before vaulting over the sofa and heading for the door. Fighting against the lock - convinced that FRIDAY had it in for you today - you threw the door open and sprinted down the corridor, smashing into Steve. You were up on your feet and disappearing around the corner before the Captain could even ask if you were okay.

Seconds later, Peter came swinging down the hallway, looking like a CGI beast gone wrong. He jumped on to the wall and began to climb up on the ceiling, pausing to salute the Captain before continuing after you. There was a loud crash from around the corner, followed by a hysterical mixture of screaming and laughing.

Steve peered around the corner to check that you weren’t killing eachother, only to find you rolling about, a tangle of paint covered limbs. You were half webbed up and Peter was tickling you into submission, pushing you to the point where you were laughing so hard that you could hardly breathe.


End file.
